


Red and Yellow Kills a Fellow

by Devious_Grayson



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: (very) Light Angst, Alternate Universe - No Zombies, Happy Ending, Homophobic Language, I apologize for the Governor's/Lori's fans, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Past Lori Grimes/Rick Grimes, Plissken the Snake, REPTILES, Rick Grimes & Shane Walsh friendship, Sexual Tension, Shane is actually a nice guy, Slow Burn, Snakes, being roofied, brief implied Lori/Shane, they fucking deserve it, they're grade-A assholes in this story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-10-31 21:44:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10908051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devious_Grayson/pseuds/Devious_Grayson
Summary: Red and black is a friend of Jack.Rick has always been fascinated by snakes, but his wife doesn't want him to keep one as a pet. When his best friend gifts him one, he's faced with a choice.As if it wasn't already complicated enough, Daryl "I will steal your pants and you won't notice" Dixon keeps slithering in is normally uncomplicated life. But it's not like Rick is stopping him either...





	1. Blue eyes and tricolor snakes

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> This is my first fanfic in years, and one of the first ones I've published in English. It all started when I dreamt about owning a green vine snake, then I looked up some info on the internet and next thing I knew I had written 9000+ words in the span of a day. 
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Update is every Monday. 
> 
> Please leave a comment to tell me what you thought of it. English is not my native language and this is unbeta'd for now, so don't hesitate to point out grammar mistakes.

Rick’s breath was trapped in his throat. Though hard rocks dug in his elbows and backside, he could not find it in himself to utter a single move. He could almost feel his eyes hurt from being open so wide.  


The hard palm that pushed him to the ground was now holding a long, brightly-colored snake and two sets of eyes seemed to silently despise him. As much as a 12-years-old boy and a potentially deadly reptile could, at least. A slim split tongue slithered out of the snake’s mouth, daring him to react. Unconsciously perhaps, the mysterious snake-charmer licked his own lips and began walking away, the thing still coiled in his arms.  


Rick’s mom, bless her kind heart, had taught him to respect every live the Lord brought to this Earth. His dad, a convinced atheist, had also told him to stop bothering the critters that lived under this Earth. He should’ve listened to both of them, if not for the fright and scratched elbows he earned from the mishap. Still the thought made him spring on his scrawny legs and shout at the stranger.  


“Put that stuff down or it will kill you, idiot!” he said, not intending to sound as rude as he did but the other teenager simply scoffed. “Red and yellow kills a fellow,” he replied in an already gruff voice despite his young features. Rick wondered if he could have been older than he looked. “Red and black’s a frien’ of Jack. This is a king snake, idiot.” he mimicked, carefully caressing the reptile’s back to illustrate his words. Almost mystically, the snake caressed his head back against the kid’s forearm, as if it were nothing but a scaled, legless, house cat.  


“I call it bullshit, put it down or I’ll make you,” dared Rick, feeling flustered at his apparent lack of knowledge. He wasn’t a bully, his best friend made sure of that by kicking his ass if he tried, but he was still the sheriff’s son and he felt he deserved respect. Even from the strange redneck kids who handled venomous animals randomly in the forest. Trying to remember what his dad taught him, he cautiously placed his hands and feet in position. The snake handler didn’t seem impressed.  


“‘d like to see that.” And within the blink of an eye, the sole of his foot found Rick’s solar plexus, cutting his breath once again as stars started to dance behind his eyelids. Before he could recover, a cold split tongue flicked against his cheek, the boy chuckled and without further ado, he was gone.  


When he finally found his way home that night, Rick didn’t dare to tell his parent that he had met a spirit in the forest. There was no way that boy was human, he decided after long hours of searching. No way he could’ve held the snake like it was a fashionable manpurse, no way he fought like Bruce Lee at age 12, no way he could’ve humiliated Rick before disappearing like it was nothing. He told his mother he simply fell, to his father that he didn’t touch the snake like he told him not to, and to Shane he told the whole story.  


“Dude’s not wrong though, the snake wasn’t dangerous,” was his best friend’s unexpected comment regarding the whole adventure. Rick raised a not-yet-bushy eyebrow at his friend. “The fuck you talking about, bro?”  


“‘Red and yellow will kill a fellow, red and black is a friend of Jack’, it’s how you remember which is a Coral snake and which is not. C’mon have you forgotten my grandma’s a hippie?” the 15-years-old took a drag from his cigarette before continuing, “She knows all kinds of stuff about snakes because that was the cool New Age pet in the seventies. Think that’s how grandpa got turned into a zombie, too. Miscalculated which was which and though they could save his body, the poor bloke’s brains were turned into goo.”  


Rick’s gaze turned to the few lights of their small town, flickering behind the pines circling their property. He was lucky to have a big wooden house with his own balcony, unlike Shane who lived in a cheap apartment downtown. Which was why they spent most of their weekends at Rick’s, and why Shane’s mom picked him in her car on their way toward school. Next year, they would pass their driver’s license and be free as soon as they could afford their own cars. Shane already fancied himself driving a Porsche Panamera, and his friend had lower, yet more realistic ambitions. A good old pickup would do.  


“Anyway, you said the kid disappeared by magic?”  


“Never said it was magic…” started Rick. “Yes you did, but please go on man,” chuckled Shane. “Well, his eyes were not natural y’know. Like, husky dog blue or something.”  


“Wow, gay.”  


“Oh shut up, not like that,” said Rick as he jabbed his friend’s side. Thankfully, he wasn’t the kind of kid to blush easily. He felt he would have, otherwise. “You know I’m not interested in dudes.”  


Of course, they changed subject after that. Of course, none of them wanted to remember too much that one time they were drunk enough to try to figure out their sexuality. Rick had kissed Shane, and laughed so hard that he ended up throwing up right after. They didn’t really talk about it, but agreed that their hilarity and lack of ‘spark’ was proof enough that they liked girls. Except Rick never admitted he didn’t feel much more kissing girls…  


“What about the blonde from the other day?” asked Rick after stealing Shane’s half-consumed smoke. “Oh yeah, we did the horizontal tango and I used parseltongue to open her chamber of secrets if you know what I mean,” bragged the teenager with a crooked smile and wiggling eyebrows.  


“I honestly have no idea if I should be disgusted by the way you say it or congratulate you for finally getting laid man,” grinned his friend, crushing the now finished stick. “And we’re not even in college!”  


“Yeah, about that I’ve thought about what you said last Friday.”  


“Before or after the appletinis?” smirked Rick, ignoring the way his stomach churned in remembrance of the massive hangover that followed.  


“Ugh, it’s the last time I taste that shit. But I meant before, in detention when we were talking about how roasted you’d be at home and you said you were afraid it would impact your application to the academy.” Shane looked uncharacteristically serious, his friend noticed. There was a hint of the man he would become in that broken nose, those very dark eyes and the firm set of his jaw. There was no doubt he would need his friend as an adult, no really one understood that his apparent aggressivity was just a play, and that angry Shane was much more terrifying by how calm he could be. In that face he knew since he was 5, there were also the firm lips and hint of stubble that creeped in Rick’s fantasies sometimes, though immediately pushed away. He wasn’t gay, and especially not for Shane. He simply liked his face, aesthetically speaking.  


“Dude, you listenin’ to me?” inquired he, pulling the other teen out of his dangerous thoughts. “Anyway, I think I’ll join the police academy too.”  


Maybe he expected a bit more enthusiasm from his best friend telling him they would most likely spend their lives together, but Shane seemed satisfied simply seeing him nod and light another cigarette. The rest of the night fell upon them, and if they slept on the blanket they brought to the balcony, no one complained. If Rick’s dreams were haunted by smooth scales and powerful strikes from deadly blue eyes, he said nothing either.

\- 

There was a rumor in the station. Not a nasty, career-destroying one, but one that any respectable prankster would put to good use. And though Shane didn’t fancy himself as either respectable or a prankster, he still had to admit the opportunity was too good to be true. His life-long best friend and co-officer Rick Grimes’ birthday was coming soon. And he was the one who started to spread the idea that Officer Grimes absolutely adored snakes, especially California kings. Y’know, the ones that look like their deadly cousins but are a-do-ra-ble?  


As he said to himself, climbing off of his police cruiser after changing into his normal clothes, you don’t celebrate you best friend’s 30th birthday every day. The charming clerk at the animal shop, though a bit too punk to his liking, explained him how to care for his friend’s present. He may have been a bit distracted by the ample cleavage she was wearing, though. He was sure Rick would manage, as he always did. In the end, he got a snake tank in his car and a number in his pocket. This was such a good day, he never noticed the man lifting his wallet from the other one.  


To tell the truth, even if he didn’t admit it even to himself, Officer Rick Grimes was as spooked as he was fascinated by reptiles. He often watched those weird documentaries on National Geographic about gators and other toxic frogs, sea snakes and 25 incredible anaconda-related accidents. His wife hated it, said he would end up trying to get one, one day. Then it would be the pet or her, because the animal of Satan had no place in her life.  


Not that he would admit that other truth to any of their very religious neighbors, but Rick wasn’t a believer. A snake is a snake, and if anything is evil in this world, it’s probably walking on two legs instead of none. But he said none of that. Cooperative neighbors telling him each other’s unlawful secrets at mass made his professional life much more easier. As for his wife, their passion had died years ago but he was still a man of honor and duty. He would respect this vow as much as any other.  


Though, the dilemma faced him sooner than he expected when he was faced with his ‘amazing’ gift at the station. “Red touches black”, he instinctively thought, though the yellow seemed more cream-colored than lemon shade. It was a beautiful, healthy animal, too. Shane seemed to find it hilarious when he first screamed after seeing it. No, he didn’t want to touch it. No Shane put it down. No you’re hurting it, it will b- yeah it bit you, prick. In the end, it seemed to him a better idea to take it home than leave the poor thing with his careless friend. Lori would have a panic attack if she ever found out.  


Parking his car in the alley in front of their ‘perfect’ house (god he hated that house), the man thanked the moon for not being up that night. Lori never slept well on full moons, out of superstition or because of the light he couldn’t tell. Panting, he slowly moved the huge tank to their basement. She only came down here to use the washing machine, which thankfully was only one of the two rooms in there. Hiding their scaled roommate behind a bunch of boxes, he tried his best to find information on snake care on the internet. After setting the light, heat pads and aspen shavings correctly, he felt the sudden urge to pet the animal.  


Sitting more comfortably on the dusty ground, he slowly put his hand next to the snake, not really knowing if he could just grab it like Shane did. Trying to remember how the boy managed, 15 years ago, he only found himself staring at the double pair of eyes that stared at him that day. Dark yellow and ice blue. He wasn’t a believer, but what was that kid really? The question never left him without the feeling that he should remember that moment, that something important had happened. The cold and silky texture of the scales gently nudged his knuckles, accidentally but it didn’t feel like the snake minded. On the contrary, probably craving Rick’s body heat, it seemed contempt there and curled a bit more against it.  


“I’m sorry buddy,” Rick started, “I can’t keep you, my wife wouldn’t allow it.” Why was he talking to a reptile anyway? As it didn’t seem to react at all, not even to the vibration, the young man felt a bit of regret. “I don’t even know if you’re a buddy, to be honest. The internet tells me to turn you around but I’m a gentleman,” he chuckled softly. Then felt silly, it was an animal after all, and not one known for it’s empathy or intellect. Resisting the urge to apologize once again, he quickly withdrew his hand from the snake tank and tightly closed the lid, then replaced the cardboards around it. Next thing in the morning, he would either find someone to give it to or bring it back to the pet shop. Climbing the stairs, he typed an offer on Craigslist, then went on to bed next to his ‘perfect’ wife.  


Life wasn’t perfect, but who was he to complain about having what others spent ages dreaming of?


	2. Bars and arrows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit shorter and I'm debating whether I should update bi-weekly or not. This would mean shorter chapters, but more than 4000 words a week. Tell me what you prefer in the comments!
> 
> There is more action in this chapter, and I'm not only talking gunfights ;-) (also prepare for badly hidden references because I find them funny)

Arms heavy, breath haggard, Rick checked his pocket for backup bullets. He felt a bead of sweat roll down his temple, his cheek, and fall on his shirt. His ears were ringing in unison with his cruiser’s siren, and his palms felt slippery against the warm metal of his Colt. He didn’t have the time to appreciate the irony of it being a Colt python. The man hiding in the shabby cabin a few yards away from them had, in spite of his advanced intoxication, a deadly accurate aim. 

Already two of his colleagues were down, among them Sheriff Horvath. He never got the chance to engage peaceful conversation with the suspect, as he had been shot straight between the eyes. Next thing Rick knew, a bullet hit his own vest above the heart, hard. It was only thanks to Shane if he could’ve been pulled out of the pullet rain behind a relatively protective boulder. Another shot got his thigh, thankfully only scraping the skin there. Still, it hurt like a bitch.

Dixons were the plague of the city. The father, who was currently hurling taunts and slurs at them from the first floor, was a known alcoholic and general piece of shit. The eldest son was as stupid as someone whose brains looked like they divorced them and got the house in the trial, but left them the guns and bitterness. The mother was a harlot, to put it politely, who died in a fire more than 20 years ago. The youngest was a serial pickpocket and braconner who didn’t have the excuse of being as stupid and addicted as the rest of his folks. 

Strangely enough, Rick felt pity for him. No other officer had managed to actually talk to him without threat of losing their genitals to one of his arrows. Having been the only one to give him ice for his numerous bruises and not have it thrown back in his face, he was also the only one the redneck was relatively calm with. 

In another life, one where Daryl wouldn’t have been a beaten up stray who didn’t know better than to steal for a living, they could’ve almost be friends. If he was completely honest with himself, they already were. But being friends with a police officer only meant more beatings so they kept it professional. To his credit, Daryl was undoubtedly the one who made the anonymous phone call which brought them to the current assault. No one else could’ve known what was happening in the Dixon cabin. 

The bullets had stopped, and for a few seconds none of the officers dared to move. Captain Blake moaned from behind his tree, clutching his eye. A deputy was helping him to hold some clothes on it in attempt to stop the hemorrhage. Rick heard Shane call for reinforcement, and Michonne’s familiar voice on the other end told him they were on their way. 

Rick doubted Daryl was in the house with his scum of a father, and knew Merle was serving time in another county. If the silence indicated that William Dixon was recharging or had exhausted his stock of ammunition, they had no time to waste. Swiftly jumping above the boulder, he was relieved to see his coworkers immediately follow and start to circle the house closer. The noise from the sirens covered the sound of their steps, but it also covered any indication that Dixon was waiting for them. 

At the last second, the slight vibration of a window opening to his left and the loud click of the security of a gun saved Rick from getting a bullet in the ribs. He managed to dodge at the last moment. What he wasn’t expecting though was the tiny colored feathers he saw next on Dixon’s jugular. He hadn't even heard the telltale snap of the crossbow. The man’s reddened eyes rolled in his skull and he fell forward by the window, only saved from a fatal fall by landing on the poor officer, who was equally knocked by it. The world faded to black.

\- 

“So you tell me, he simply fainted, just like that?” inquired Michonne, writing something in her report that Rick couldn’t read from where he was. A pack of ice was pressed to his temple, and a medic had bandaged his thigh tightly. At any other moment, he would’ve thought that she was definitely an attractive woman, even more so when she was angry. But his head throbbed, the adrenaline having worn off. He still had some explaining to do with Daryl "Can Shoot A Mosquito In The Dark At 175 Paces" Dixon. A conversation that would, undoubtedly, be a huge pain in the ass. 

“Yes ma’am. Next thing I knew, someone was bandaging my wounds and Walsh was nearly crying at my side,” he said, only half-joking. Shane would deny everything afterward, but he definitely looked terrified at the idea of his friend being hurt. A long-forgotten warmth had spread in Rick’s chest, only tempered by the fact that it only felt like a surge of friendship now. Not… what it had been when he was 10. They were past that now. 

“Oh really? I knew you were a married man Grimes, only not to him,” Michonne grinned as she closed her file. “Well, I’m sending you home for the rest of the day, Officer. Try to get some rest and see you on Monday."

Rick bid her and the rest of the team farewell, however he didn’t go straight to his house. After driving for some time he pulled over to a local bar, some shithole that pretended to be a steakhouse but probably served cat meat. Squirrel, if you trusted its main provider and the person Rick was looking for. So early in the afternoon, the Lil Asskicker’s population was scarce and mainly quiet save for the soft clinking of the glasses. The place looked as filthy than it smelled like, with its dark walls and dark tables. Rick didn't know -didn't want to know- if this was the original color. 

Behind the bar, a lean young man was pretending to clean glasses as his eyes were riveted on the small TV. If illegal betting wasn’t the only ‘professional’ activity the younger Dixon partook in, it was certainly the most lucrative. Rick had heard many times Merle Dixon yelling that with his -then there were many slurs among which to chose- face, Daryl could've brought money home by being more than a barman at night. He always got the meanest right hook his younger brother could pull for that. As far as he knew, the younger Dixon didn't bear human contact enough to touch people other than with his raised fist or booted feet. The white scars crisscrossing on his strong knuckles were there to prove it. There was a time he didn't know that, however, and experienced said meanest right hook himself. 

If he had noticed the officer walking in, Dixon ignored him completely. He looked as bored as someone who had spent his whole day cleaning clean glasses and filling the others with sewer-cut lager. On the other hand, the small smudge of dirt on his wrist and the lonely leaf hanging from his overgrown hair told another story.

“Why did you call us, Dixon,” was Rick's greeting. Daryl barely seemed to care to deny his accusation, only frowning his already frowned face when the red team made a home run. The Lucille Bats were newbies who were climbing their way to the top faster than anyone could predict, crushing their adversaries ruthlessly. The Rhee's stood no chance. 

“Easy, Officer Friendly. You’ll wake up the customers. How’s Shane’s baby?”

“No one could’ve made that call, or that shot other than y- what? It's Officer Walsh to you, and doesn’t have children.” If Rick knew him less than he did, after spending the first 10 years of his police career running after him in different situations, he could’ve thought Daryl’s face stayed the same. But he did know him better than he wanted to admit, and those thin lips were definitely harboring the Dixon poker-faced version of a huge shit-eating grin. Without another word, the younger man took a receipt from his pocket and passed it to Rick. Dating from two days ago, it was for the purchase of a 20-gallons tank, an aspen bedding, a warming light, and a snake species he immediately recognized. His thigh still hurt, he was emotionally exhausted and he didn't have time for Daryl's sleights of hand.

“Give me his wallet, Dixon,” he required. Yes, there was definitely an amused smirk playing on the hunter’s lips. His eyes opened a bit more, which was the equivalent of rolling on the floor and crying out of laughter for him, as he slid the leather wallet on the counter. Rick didn’t bother looking if everything was in there. He may have been a piece of shit most of the time, Daryl only played with him the rest of the time. He had no other interest picking Shane’s pockets otherwise than pissing he and Rick off. Which obviously worked very well.

"You're such a jerk, I should arrest you on the spot."

"What's stoppin' ya?" The man's demeanor was casual, but Rick knew he was ready to bolt. He always was. Daryl Dixon had no courage that he knew of.

"Too tired to fight you and I'm off-duty. Just answer my question so that I can go home." There was defiance in the blink-and-you-miss-it look the other man sent him. Nothing new under the sun. Rick sighed. 

"The snake was for my birthday,” he admitted before he could stop himself. Daryl paused, studied him and shrugged, focusing his attention on the TV once more. “Good. Planned to free it m’self.”

Rick carefully assessed the man’s behavior. There was no use trying to communicate with words only, you had to read his body to understand what he was saying. And at the moment, the most obvious things were the way Daryl hid the left side of his face, his back more rigid than usual, the way he avoided to balance himself on his left side. His clear eyes were hidden behind his long, blonde bangs that looked surprisingly good on him.  At least, it was better than when the Dixon siblings had suffered a flea infestation and both shaved their heads. The result only enhanced the ugliness of Merle’s ugly face, and made Daryl look like a meth addict. 

“What did he do to you?” Rick asked, barely above a whisper. Nothing changed in the other’s stance, which was the last hint the officer needed to understand. Will Dixon beat the crap of his sons and concubine since even before Rick was born, yet there was nothing he could legally do without any of them reporting to the police. He made no comment, stilled his face so it wouldn’t give away the boiling rage under it, and clutched the chair under the counter, where Daryl wouldn’t see it. “He will pay for that. Killed my boss today.”

That got the younger man’s attention. The way he turned barely more than he had before, his knuckles whitening against the glass, were a more honest apology than most people would give in a similar situation. “You won’t even need to press charges,” Rick added. “There is no way he won’t serve a life sentence after that. You’re free now, Daryl.”

That time, he clearly heard the snort. “I ain’t ever be that, not even wit’ both a’em behind bars.” For anyone else, he looked like Rick’s news were no more important than a weather forecast, but he knew. Coiling on himself, ready to bite, Daryl was so scared it was a miracle he hadn’t fainted yet. “Do you have anywhere to sleep? Your house is sealed until the inquiry is done.” The only answer he got was a low grumble about finding a way, don’t need no charity Officer Friendly. Especially from you. 

Against knowing better, Rick tried to take the leaf from Daryl’s shaggy but clean-looking hair. All he got was a stiff dodging, a nasty look and a bark about getting fucked. His hand landed on Daryl’s forearm instead. It felt cold and hard with tensed muscles under his palm, but it lasted a bit longer than he intended. Too long for a simple comforting gesture from a police officer to a victim, too long even for the unrecognized friendship they had. He became way too aware that there was something unsaid in Dixon’s absence of reaction. When he looked up after Daryl finally withdrew his arm like he had been burned, he only saw confusion in his dissimulated features. 

  
“Sorry, didn’t mean to spook you.” A tense shrug answered him. “If you need anything, you have my number,” he added unnecessarily. Not like Daryl would call him for courtesy, or even for an emergency. Rick didn’t doubt the only thing he would ever hear from him would be insults to put drunken sailors to shame. Still, he could hope that being the only human to show Daryl some sort of kindness would mean something to him one day. Leaving the stinky rat hole, the officer threw the small leaf to the wind. He didn’t hear the glass crack in Daryl’s hands from being crushed too hard.


	3. The hiding spot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little emotionally heavier than the previous one, but there's some Rickyl scenes to alleviate it (don't worry the next one is full of fluff and feelings). 
> 
> Comments will be framed in the hall of my apartment for my guests to peruse.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: the passage between asterisks refers to being roofied (i.e. having drank something containing drugs destined to take away the person's ability to consent). You can skip this part if you want, you should still be able to understand what happened next without reading it if it disturbs you.

It had been 56 hours and 12 minutes since Rick had told himself he would give away his cumbersome present. Plissken was still a stowaway in his basement, having even gotten a name in the meantime. There was something unexplainably relaxing in watching it slither in his box, and even feeding it frozen rodents (which was extremely risky considered Lori sometimes used the freezer where he stored them) was less disgusting than it sounded. 

Snake skin was so different than what he first expected. After a first shy attempt, he discovered it was smooth and rather cold, not at all slimy like he thought it would be. The reptile’s comfortable weight on his neck had become one of his reading habits, when his wife thought he was working in repairing things in there. There were always things to fix, but their marriage wasn’t one of them. Still, appearances mattered so they ignored each other’s weird habits, like spending hours in their dusty basement or being conveniently invited by the lady next door for tea when they had free time.

He could also feel the animal breathing and gulping, which shouldn’t have startled him so much the first time it happened. Stiller than a dog or a cat, Rick almost tended to forget the snake was alive, too. The occasional tongue flickering against his neck, cheek or fingers were probably accidental, but he still chose to believe they were affectionate gestures. It was much nicer spending his free time with his cold-blooded pet than his cold-hearted wife, anyway.

It made the perspective of giving it away all the more heartbreaking. Rick knew he shouldn’t have gotten attached, but aside from his childhood memories and the low-maintenance, it really was a beautiful and fascinating creature. No noise, no annoying fur to clean up, and the distinct thrill of holding his former fears in his hands. The officer often wondered if he would be less afraid of spiders if he basically cuddled with them as he was with the snake. After facing a big black one in his shower and the manly scream that followed, he had to accept it was a line he wouldn’t cross. 

That day when he had looked in the basement’s freezer, he had realized his dead mice stock was almost completely depleted. No one had answered the Craiglist offer, at least no one he would trust to take care of Plissken, so he decided to pay a quick visit to the pet shop, hoping Lori wouldn’t ask too many questions about it. And if she did, he would blame Shane. That’s what best friends are here for, he thought shamelessly (no pun intended). 

The shop smelled a strong and persistent scent he didn’t pay too much attention to. Instead, he passed in front of the reptile aisle and ended up maybe a little too much stuff for a pet he couldn’t keep. But the tiny police station snake house was just too adorable to be left there, he tried to justify himself. The punk clerk gave him a knowing look as she fetched the mice from their freezers. As he was waiting for her, he suddenly felt a smooth, cold, thing brush against his hip. Out of police reflex, he grabbed the wrist that was holding his wallet and pinned the thief to the wall, the thief’s muscular back pressing against his own chest. The distinct smell of gas oil, cigarettes and muddy river gave his identity away.

“You’re the worse, you know that?”

“Yeah, that’s why yo mama like me ‘n her bed,” replied the younger Dixon with a slight smirk. For good measure, Rick held him there a bit longer than necessary, turning his shoulder at a painful angle, and then released him. “I should arrest you, but you’d pick the cuffs,” stated Rick, picking up his bag. Daryl didn’t even have the courtesy to look apologetic. “What are you doing in there anyway? Didn’t think you were a chihuahua kind of person, but hey, who am I to judge?”

Dixon only scoffed, pointing at the fishing aisle. Then his gaze fell on Rick’s purchase and he raised an eyebrow, apparently feeling uncharacteristically social that day. Maybe it was the same moon that turned his wife into a wicked banshee, that turned down Daryl’s fight-or-flight attitude. He almost seemed relaxed.

“Told ya they gifted me a snake, yes? Well, my wife,” Rick started, noticing the barely-there shiver that crossed the younger man at that word, “Doesn’t want me to have one. Says it’s the Devil’s emissary or some bullshit like that. I’m supposed to get rid of it before she notices it’s been in the house since then…”

“Then why the hidin’ spot?” inquired the other, looking at his bag. “Grew on ya?”

“You could say that, yes. His name is Plissken.”

“Didn’t take ya for such a nerd,” snorted Daryl, immediately followed by: “I can take care of it, if ya can’t.”

It was Rick’s time to raise an eyebrow. “Thought you crashed at a motel? Don’t think they’ll take too kindly that you bring in a pet, much less a snake. Plus it’s not any kind of pet, it’s-”

“Rick.” An angel passed. It was the first time in years that Daryl used his first name, and he probably never looked so serious. Though, there was something abnormally arousing in the way his pale eyes pinned him as surely as Rick pinned him against the wall moments ago. Maybe it was the exhaustion from his last shift.

“I know how ta handle a snake,” the hunter simply stated. His bright blue eyes didn’t try to escape Rick’s, holding him as surely as if Daryl had his hands around his throat. 

More than a decade of their little game of cat and mouse, and almost half of that time just shy away of flirting, and he still couldn’t get over how much the other man could affect him. A small part of his mind finally clicked. The two situations were too similar for him to ignore. Daryl was the boy from the forest, and he almost facepalmed in that moment for not having noticed sooner.

He heard the younger man clear his throat and saw his return to his usual, shy demeanor. No way they were the same person, thought Rick. Daryl was Daryl, and the forest boy was something he thought he saw, but maybe he never saw it at all. Surely his memory was so bad that it mixed two stories. 

“Look if ya don’ trust me ya could’ve jus’ said,” growled Dixon, looking what could pass on his features as hurt. “No it’s not-” began Rick, reaching for the other man. His arm was still cool from his endless war on sleeves (not that people would complain, those were definitely well-chiseled shoulders), and his eyes looking even more like the birth of a storm then ever. A vibration seemed to pass between them. Something major just happened, but hell if Rick could say what that was. He simply released him, trying not to think too much at how similar to a snake’s skin Daryl’s felt. 

“When you have somewhere to live, I promise you can have him,” he simply said before turning to the clerk who apologized for the waiting and led him to the grocery lines. If he had turned, he would’ve seen something entirely new on Daryl’s face. Something no one else was allowed to see. But he didn’t, and Daryl left in silence, as he always did. 

When he returned home that day, Rick didn’t know if he was feeling good or not. If Daryl really was the kid from his childhood, as he logically was, he was fucked. He wouldn’t have called what he felt at the moment a crush, but he certainly admired this ‘forest boy’ way more than he was supposed to. Not knowing better, he had called him Jack and imagined what it would be like to be his friend, to spend time with him. Jack the blue-eyed snake charmer had won him very good grades in his free-writing essays in high school, and a year of therapy when his mother realised her son most likely had an imaginary friend at age 16. He eventually grew out of it, married the cute girl who kissed him at prom, graduated successfully from the police academy, found a job where his best friend was also his partner, and hopped into adulthood with all honors from the jury. 

But he had never forgotten the lessons learned that day, whatever they were. In his mind, Jack had grown to be his moral side, protecting the innocents and defending him against prejudices. He believed this sort of auto-suggestion was what made him a good man in the end. Jack couldn’t be a scoundrel like Daryl Dixon. 

-

There was a strange smell in the house. It was familiar, but he couldn’t pinpoint where he had smelled it before. When he saw Shane’s vest, holster and shoes, he guessed it was simply his cologne. The man bathed it in like it was Holy Water, their cruiser reeked of it. Though it wasn’t exactly the same smell. There was something distinctly feminine, just as feminine as the loud moan that resonated at that precise moment. There were more of them after that, more than he had heard during their last intercourse -was that two months ago? Six? Really? 

He didn’t feel anything, at the moment. He simply went straight to the basement, put the mice in the fridge, left his bag on the ground and carefully lifted Plissken. The sleepy reptile seemingly thankfully curled against his neck. He had gotten even longer than the last time, which served perfectly Rick’s design, even though he had learned that holding him too much wasn’t good for his health. It had been a while though, the reptile should be okay.

He climbed the stairs, then another set of stairs, and opened their bedroom door with the long, colorful snake around his neck, and looked at his cheating wife right in the eyes. She screamed even louder than expected, then promptly fainted on a dumbstruck Shane. 

That was a week ago. Their attorneys were fighting, she was most likely getting the house, and he was okay with that. She would pay the rest of the mortgage, and he would be free to return to his late parent’s cabin. Each time she pissed him off too much, he showed her pictures of his exotic pet and she wailed until someone took her out. The lawyers didn’t find it as funny as he did. When he had 'accidentally' met Daryl once again in the pet store, the younger man had found it hilarious though. 

Rick had also asked that he and Shane do not work together anymore. Not that he was really angry at him, or even surprised that it happened. The only reproach he had, was that he didn’t have the balls to tell him the truth. When you can’t trust your partner with your life, you simply switch partners. Blake may have been a grade-A asshole with his missing eye and misplaced mannerism, but at least he did his job satisfyingly. The not very subtle flirt he served him was bound to become a problem somewhere along the line however, especially when he discovered Blake wasn’t afraid of reptiles like his ex-wife was. 

His way of forcing Rick’s hand to the point of emotional manipulation had almost earned him a black eye to match his missing one. However, Rick knew he was isolating himself from his coworkers, and that wasn’t a good thing. In the end, he finally agreed to go grab a drink with them at the end of their shift. The music was bad, the beer cheap and Blake’s hands way too much on his waist during the first half of the night. 

***

Even after telling him he wasn’t interested, the grabbing continued and a freezing wave of disgust passed through him as he considered asking for help at some point. It was late though, most of his coworkers were gone and the few drunkards still aware didn’t pay him attention. He turned the other way, grabbing a handful of Blake’s hair to pull his face away from his lips, when he met Daryl’s eyes. 

Poised but ready to jump and disappear in the night. Still Rick could use any help available, and set his ego aside to plead him to do something. He didn’t know how many beers he drank, but he felt weird, too light and too heavy at the same time. When he tried to speak, he found out he didn’t remember how to use his tongue properly. A flicker of panic tried to rise in his chest but turned into something more pleasant, and too sweet at the same time. Somewhere, he was aware that the whole situation felt extremely wrong. 

Daryl wasn’t looking at him, in fact he wasn’t anywhere to be seen. The counter was more comfortable and cold than he thought, so he leaned his head against it. God knows why, the counter told him he wasn’t helping. What a sweet voice. He liked that voice. It was like molasses, dripping and sugary. Or was it? Why was the bubbly feeling of ‘wrong wrong wrong’ being a party pooper though? Rick couldn’t shake that weird thingy from his tummy, but he didn’t understand why.

The guy… Philip? He was saying nice things. They could be a family and they would have a daughter named Penny. Penny is dead, he tried to say, but he must’ve said something else because the nice man only smiled. Yes, Rick liked smiles. He prefered Daryl’s smile, he thought, but that didn’t matter. 

Oh, Shane. Hey Shane! he tried to say again, but dissolved into a giggling mess. There were arms on him, and his whole body tried to say yes all at once. 

***

The only thing he remembered next, were those strong arms lifting him, Blake cuffed to his own seat and the police telling him that he could say goodbye to his career.


	4. Raising sun

Maybe the whole thing was a dream, he thought the next morning. Well, technically it was still in the middle of the night. He felt hungover, terribly so, in a way he hadn’t been since he was a stupid freshman. He vaguely remembered the night before, and obviously someone had brought him home since there were a glass of water and some aspirin on his nightstand. Once his thoughts cleared a bit, he also read the letter that came with it. 

_“Brother,”_ started Shane’s wide, childlike handwriting. _“I’m sorry about everything. Can we talk? That scum Blake tried to rape you yesterday, I’m sorry but there’s no other way to say it. As he attacked us (as the official report confirms), we had to beat the hell out of that bastard. He’s never going to harm you anymore. Please call me, I miss you. - Shane. P.S. excellent reflex to handcuff him to his seat though.”_

There was a fleeting moment where Rick didn’t want to believe what he had just read. His mind was too clouded to remember trivial details, but he was absolutely sure he never handcuffed Blake. As much as he was absolutely sure Daryl did. There was another letter, in an unknown handwriting.

_“Officer Friendly,”_ it began in a neat but small handwriting, bent on the left side. _“Ought to be more careful who you flirt with. Asshole apparently drugged your drink, then you tried to jump me but I ain’t no scum like him. Just wanted to make that clear. I didn’t touch you. Don’t know how much you remember so trust me on that one. Also the king snake is a beauty. D.”_

Warmth was not what Rick had expected to feel this morning, but there it was, fiercely burning in his chest and threatening to make him explode. People, good people cared about him. Though the colors were similar, these good people had nothing to do with assholes like Blake.   
A small rattle caught his attention, and he looked up to see Daryl who stared at him like a deer caught in the headlights of his small bed lamp. There was surprise in his beautiful eyes, but not defiance or fear as usual. Only worry.

“Feelin’ better?” It felt like only half a question, and Rick just nodded. The other man held a box of aspirin and a book in his hand. As if he had planned to keep an eye on him until he woke up. He must’ve seen the letter in his hand, because he suddenly looked away, letting the hair obscure his face once again. “Was leavin’ anyway.”

“Wait!” Rick called, not really knowing why he did that. Or, more exactly, knowing exactly why he wanted someone he could trust at his side. “If you don’t mind… I’d feel better if you stayed. I have to thank you anyway, and I make killer pancakes in the morning.”

“No one’s getting in there, you live in the middl’ of goddamn nowhere,” started Daryl before hesitating, and adding: “But for free food I can stay, yeah.”

“You can sleep in one of the beds upstairs, if you want. Or here,” added Rick, seeing the hunter roll his eyes. “Well not here, _here_ , but there’s a comfortable couch from where you can still stand guard if I leave the door open.” God he was rambling, which may have been due to the fact that he didn’t feel like himself, and definitely felt warmer than he was allowed to be at the thought of sharing space with Daryl. 

He was fast asleep before he could hear his answer, though. 

The morning, the real one, was a massive pain in the ass, Rick decided. First he had slept too lightly, dreaming of shedding his own skin and having sex with a non-entirely human entity whose eyes burned as much with desire at they ended up burning him too. Then he spent the waking hours of the sun throwing up the remains of the drug Blake had used on him. After it finally seemed to slow down, he fell asleep once again on the WC and woke up half an hour after to retch the final poison out of his body. He then took a well-deserved shower, shaved, tried to look a little less like a walking dead and went downstairs to try to drink something at least. 

He was pleasantly surprised to find Daryl snoring softly on his couch, a spare blanket barely managing to hide his mostly bare torso. His blonde hair shimmered in the waking sun’s light, the soft shadows accentuating the graceful curves his his body. There was the slightest hint of a mustache above his lips, which was not something Rick had ever expected to find attractive.

There was no point trying to deny that attraction anymore, thought Rick as he silently watched the young man’s chest rise and fall slowly. Not like he would ever act on it. Daryl would probably stick an arrow up his ass and vanish from his life entirely if he ever tried anything. Still, the desire was there, and if he could only enjoy those ethereal pictures when the other man lowered his guard, Rick felt that would make him happy enough. 

Making those bluest eyes sparkle with excitement at the sound of sizzling bacon and the smell of maple syrup being poured on pancakes also helped him to cast away the horrible thought of what could have happened, had Daryl not be there to save him. 

“About yesterday…” he started, not really knowing how to put his gratitude into words. “Hadn’t you been there I would’ve… he’d…”

“I wanted t’kill him,” interrupted Daryl, once again lethally serious. “I could’ve, and I would’ve if ya hadn’t stopped me. Tol’ me they’d send me where my pa’ is. I ain’t well ‘ccustomed wit’ cages, ‘d’ve preferred to shoot m’self instead.” His accent got thicker and his voice lower, barely above a hiss, as his eyes caught a ray of light and seemed made of white fire for a split second. “Ya saved me from prison, I saved ya, we’re even.” Rick realized that must’ve been the longest sentence he’s ever hear the other man say to him. Then he remembered the letter.

“Also… sorry for the, uh. Drug after effects…” 

“Oh that. Don’t worry Officer, learned how ta use your arm twistin’ technique ta good use,” he replied with the hint of a grin. 

There was something surrealistic in sipping coffee with a man he spent half his life arresting or running after, yet here they were, exchanging almost-flirtatious taunts in Rick’s kitchen as the sun rose higher and higher above their heads. At some point, they sat in front of Plissken’s tank and exchanged knowledge about snakes. Rick rambled a lot, Daryl almost smiled, and if their fingers brushed when the snake passed between them, none of them commented on it.   
It felt good, until the doorbell rang. 

Rick carefully placed his pet snake around the other’s shoulders, ignoring how intimate his gesture might’ve looked, and rose to open the front door. 

He never expected his ex-wife to be there. 

“Rick I learned about what happened to you and-” she stopped, the iced bead of frozen tar she had for eyes falling on a very immobile Daryl. All the lines in his body became tensed, though he also looked like he would fight her if he had to. That, and the dangerously dissuasive dance of the red, black and cream reptile around his neck made him look like a wrathful ancient deity. Despite his ratty jeans, shaggy hair and not-so-clean tank top, nothing in him looked less than precisely lethal. He looks like a cobra ready to strike, observed a small part of Rick’s brain.

“I see how it is,” calmly remarked Lori. “They told me to ‘hate the sin, not the sinner’ and I didn’t hate you even though I always knew.”

“What the fuck are you talking ab-”

“But THIS,” she interrupted, her face contorting like a fire ant nest that an imbecile would have dive jumped in. “This is wrong, Richard. First you bring home a servitor of Satan, then you lay beside this... this sodomite!!! I thought our marriage could help your soul, but it’s damned, it’s going to hell, it-” 

When she was not looking, Daryl had risen and slowly stepped until he and the snake were right in front of her. Rick swore he could see his dark aura swirling around him as much as he could read blank rage on his face. There was no hate though, not like the one that was contorting his ex-wife’s features in ta horrible mask. 

“Get. Out. B’fore I hit ya,” he stated, his muscles bulging under the thin fabric of his tank top. The spiteful mask took the color of fear and she simply fled. Rick sighed as he saw Daryl follow her outside, ready to intervene, but she drove away and he was left alone in the unkempt garden. So suddenly that Rick jumped in his own skin, a loud crack echoed and made several birds fly away. The other man had punched a hole in the shape of his balled fist in a nearby tree. 

Against his instincts screaming to stay away from that man, Rick slowly approached, trying to always stay in his vision field. Slowly, as if trying to tame a wild animal, he reached out and managed to get close enough so that he could take the very frightened snake off of him, getting bitten once or twice in the process. He then quickly retreated inside to put it in his tank, leaving the door open for Daryl. When he returned with a first-aid kit, the man still stood in his garden, the hole deeper and his fist bleeding on the lush grass. Shaded by the tall pines, looking exhausted, it seemed like his berserk mode had went off but Rick still took precautions before trying to talk to him. 

“I’m not gay,” the hunter said in a tired, almost sad voice. His face was more open than usual, displaying emotions more clearly than ever. He was hurt, confused, and though the hatred wasn’t gone it was kept inside, coiling and uncoiling in his heart. 

“It’s okay, she was being a dick.”

“Rick, I’m not gay.” For the first time in decades, maybe ever, Daryl held his gaze without hiding. They were face to face, the small cuts on his body highlighted by how pale he had gotten, his fist still closed and dripping, his voice barely wavering from the sudden fear that took over like a tidal wave. 

“I don’t believe being gay is a sin,” answered Rick, at loss for words. Prioritizing, he asked the other man if he was allowed to touch his hand to clean the cut. After sitting him in the grass, Rick meticulously took off all the splinters than managed to get under his skin. There was a lot of blood, but hands always bleed a lot, he remembered from the academy. Treating physical injuries in people under shock could sometimes help them recollect their thoughts in peace, rather than having a panic attack. At some point, Daryl’s breathing evened, and Rick knew he had made the right decision. 

“I can’t believe you were married to someone like that,” said the younger man, seemingly before he could stop himself. His hand was still in Rick’s, who was pressing the wound to stop the blood from flowing. 

“When I met her, she wasn’t like that. I thought she was a proud woman, free of her strict education and who would take no shit from anyone. After a few years together, her mother passed and she joined these religious clubs… that’s when they used the worse ways Christianity can be interpreted to make her the hateful woman you saw. It’s no excuse, but I honestly wonder if she ever was the girl I married.”

“Too many peopl’ hide behind Jesus to do their shit. M’pa thought going ta church every other sunday would make...what he did okay. Have damn scars ta prove it did not.”

Rick felt a sudden pang in his chest, telling him to hold that man in his arms, shield him from the horrors of the world. If he did not, his rational mind told him that he would’ve probably been shoved away, and his emotional mind told him he was simply a coward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment, I love them! <3


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